


Unsorted Baggage

by PetePepsi



Series: Post-SQUIP Stories [3]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alcohol, Emetophobia, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Post-Canon, Trans Jeremy Heere, sort of a sequel to pursuit of happiness but you don’t HAVE to read poh to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetePepsi/pseuds/PetePepsi
Summary: Jeremy and Christine have been "officially dating" for a few weeks now, and things have been going well for the two of them. They’ve had some good dates – from some surprisingly-well-executed performance art, to seeing an off-off-Broadway play.But after the two of them stop by Jeremy's house after one, they end up having an uncomfortably necessary conversation.





	Unsorted Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i wanna preface this with a fair warning. this work gets a Bit heavier than my others, specifically in regards to Jeremy’s recollections of what happened on Halloween. this also delves deeper into the concept of Jeremy being trans, including some implied internalized transphobia on Jeremy’s part. it isn’t anything Extreme, but I figured i’d give a warning in case that made anyone uncomfortable or triggered. please, if you need a trigger warning on any of my works, feel free to shoot me a message at @pepsi-pete on tumblr.
> 
> happy reading, and make sure to kudos and comment! <3<3<3

Jeremy drops his keys trying to unlock the door. Not an unusual occurrence, and he still half-expects the sarcastic,  **Great job, Jeremy** , to prod the back of his mind once again. He waits for it, hunched over looking at the floor-keys before a small, dainty, gloved hand comes into view and picks them up for him.

There's a different hand on his arm. "You okay, Jeremy?"

Jeremy's head whips around to his left and Christine is there, looking up at him. She gives him a smile, sticking her tongue out and making a "bleh!" noise. It coaxes a chuckle out of him easily, and she laughs, too.

He tries to form words, but his brain is so fuzzy, he can't get anything coherent out. "That's—Yeah, bleh!" He laughs harder.

Christine unlocks the door for him and opens it. "Okay, you need some water," she says with a chuckle. She gently tugs on his arm, leading him inside.

Jeremy's just looking at her, dreamily. She looks so beautiful with the moonlight reflecting off her hair. When they enter the pitch-black house and the gleam goes away, he frowns. He wishes the lights were on inside;  _ Christine looks so pretty it's not fair that nobody gets to look at her _ .

He trips over his feet on the way in, stumbling ahead of Christine, but managing to not fall. He can feel Christine's grip on his arm tighten.

He abruptly slurs out, "Nonononono, 's fine. I'm fine." He stops; the kitchen light is shining directly onto her face, her brown eyes sparkling like bronze. He's sure he's smiling like an idiot when he tells her, "You're pretty."

"Aw, Jere…" Christine lets out a small, amused laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "You gotta go sit down, okay? I'll get you some water." She lets go off his arm and gestures to him to go to the couch.

"Mhm," Jeremy hums in response, nodding at her, staggering over and flopping down back-first onto the couch. He snuggles into the cushions.  _ Has the couch always been this comfortable? _

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, a phone rings. Jeremy looks up at the sound; he can't remember if Christine has his phone or not. He realizes she doesn't when it falls out of his pocket.

The ringing stops; Christine says, "Hey-o!" Then a pause. Then, "Of course, yeah." Another pause. "He's okay, just still  _ pretty _ drunk."

Christine looks at Jeremy from the kitchen counter. Jeremy waves. She smiles and waves back, but seems concerned, Jeremy thinks.

She looks away from him, going to the fridge. Jeremy can't really see her anymore. "I don't think he should be home alone right now, Jake, I'm gonna stay here for a bit. No, Mr. Heere's flight doesn't come in 'til tomorrow at like seven or eight. No,  _ PM _ , not A—Don't you have Michael with you? He's a walking Jere-cyclopedia, he knows this stuff way better than I do." Another pause; Christine makes a much less fun-sounding "bleh" sound. "That's suuuuper gross, thanks. On the bright side,  _ Jeremy's _ not puking!"

Jeremy yells out, " _ Yet! _ " and giggles to himself.

Christine doesn't respond to him, instead speaking into the phone. "Okay, I gotta go." She muffles a giggle with her hand. "Yeah, my boy needs me. Bye, love you!"

"Tell Jake I love him, too!"

She sputters out a laugh. "Jere loves you, too!"

A contented smile encompasses Jeremy's face. He does love Jake; he loves being friends with Jake, loves having friends like Jake. Jake's a good friend, which he's glad about, considering Michael's feelings for him.

Christine comes back in with a plastic bottle in her hand. Jeremy sits himself up to give her room. He feels an ache in his ribs; he squirms uncomfortably, but Christine doesn't catch it. She sits down next to him and unscrews the cap from the bottle.

Jeremy takes the bottle in his hand, and slowly brings it up to his lips. His hands are wobbling, but Christine holds the bottle steady to keep it from spilling. He takes a large sip, the cold water going down his throat and sending a cold, calming wave through his chest. Christine takes the bottle after he's done, setting it on the coffee table.

Jeremy leans over, hugging her around the shoulders. "Thank you."

Christine leans into the embrace, hugging him back as best as she can. She rests her head against his shoulder, feeling the soft fabric of his jacket on her face. Jeremy lays back, and Christine is pulled down with him, collapsing into his chest. He's comfortably warm, especially compared to the icy chill outside. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek and he giggles again, adorably.

"Did you have a—um," he pauses for a moment, looking off as if he's trying to find the words written on his ceiling. "Did you have a good time? At the party with me? Or not with me, um—I know it wasn't technically a date but it was—y'know—we were both there, and yeah."

"I had a  _ great _ time," Christine assures him. "Both with and without you. But it's a lot better with you, even if you are drunk."

"Not  _ drunk _ , I'm  _ tipsy _ ," Jeremy argues, almost whiny. "And a little sleeby."

Christine jokingly repeats, "' _ Sleeby _ .'"

Jeremy whines back, but his tiny laugh at the end exposes his enjoyment. He hugs her tighter, like a koala. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more content than he does right now; he could stay in this one moment forever — but maybe that’s just the alcohol talking. 

Christine scoots up, putting her head next to his on the pillow and softly carding a hand through his hair. “You had a good time, too, right?”

Jeremy nods vehemently.

Her smile returns to her face. She goes to sit up, but a concerned whimper from Jeremy stops her.

“I’m just gonna get a drink,” she explains as she stands up.

Jeremy stands up with her — a bit wobbly, but he does it. “Gator—There’s only Gatorade. The zero sugar ones. No soda.”

(Of course, that wasn’t the whole truth. There were two bottles of soda in the house. One half-full and red and stored in the back of Jeremy’s closet for emergencies. One small and green, unopened and still sitting on his bedside table in case he ever changes his mind.)

“ _ No soda _ ,” he repeats, as if that will make it any truer. 

“That’s okay, I was gonna just get water,” Christine says, and two months’ worth of  _ “Just water, thanks”  _ passes through Jeremy’s mind.

Jeremy blinks, and then blinks again, and he swears he can see a shadow that isn’t supposed to be there, but when he blinks a third time, it’s gone. His back straightens on reflex, his eyes poised on the spot where the shadow was, his heart beating in his stomach. 

( **And I’ll be back when you’re sober — unless you plan to stay wasted ** ** _forever_ ** **.** )

Why now — why is this happening  _ now? _ It’s not even  _ here! _

“— _ Jeremy _ , hey.” Her voice snaps his attention back into reality — whatever “reality” is. She puts her hand on his arm, and Jeremy leans into the touch as if to make sure she’s really there. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s uh…” Jeremy almost takes a step back, but when his ankle hits the couch, he remembers where he is. He shakes his head, like his brain is an Etch-a-Sketch and that’ll clear his thoughts. It works well enough. “Just  _ sleeby _ , sorry.”

Christine lets out a very small laugh, but the worry takes longer to leave her eyes. Those beautiful bronze eyes.

(She walked out from the stage, towards him. Even in her over-exaggerated stage makeup and gaudy sequinned costume, she looked ethereal. It was everything he could have ever wanted. But those eyes. The turquoise circle in her iris, glowing unnaturally under the stage lights. The same one he saw on Jake before he dumped the Mountain Dew Red. The same one he could see on Rich, after their SQUIPs had synced.)

Jeremy can’t help himself; he hugs her. It’s not a long embrace, but Christine does hug back before they back off.

(It was everything he could have ever wanted. But those  _ eyes _ —it wasn’t Christine — not  _ really _ .)

Christine walks to the kitchen; Jeremy follows. He’s taking great care in his steps to make sure he doesn’t fall. Christine opens the fridge and takes out a cold water bottle. Jeremy eyes a berry-flavored Gatorade, but he’s not sure if he should take it, considering he already has a drink and he’d probably look ungrateful if he took another and—

“Y’know, high-electrolyte drinks are supposed to be good for preventing hangovers,” Christine interjects. Jeremy looks to her, confused, and she unsubtly nudges her head towards the Gatorade, as if to say,  _ “Just take it.”  _

Jeremy just takes it, shutting the fridge behind him. When they get back to the couch, he opens it and takes a large gulp. It’s pleasantly sweet, not overwhelming, comfortable. Christine puts her hand on his thigh, close to his knee. Jeremy puts an arm around her shoulders and, feeling a bit bold, plants a small kiss on her cheek before backing his head away, giggling. The corners of her eyes crinkle up as she smiles, and Jeremy lets out a dreamy sigh.

“Have you ever gotten drunk before?” she asks, just sort of blurting it out.

Jeremy shakes his head no. “Been high before, with Micah, but the last time I even  _ touched _ alcohol was—”

(Chloe put a hand on his shoulder and held the fake oversized baby bottle up to his face, slurring out, “It’s not actually milk.”)

He feels his words catch in his throat. He takes his arm off of Christine’s shoulder, gripping the couch cushion underneath him.

(“I’m not really a big dr—” But before he could finish the statement, his arm began moving against his will, hand gripping the bottle while the lukewarm beer burned its way down his throat.)

He feels his body moving away from Christine before his mind can register that he’s actually doing it. 

(He could see the SQUIP smile. Proudly.)

“Jeremy?”

(Chloe’s legs straddled his stomach. She reached for the zipper on the back of his costume. Jeremy felt like he was hyperventilating, but he became startlingly aware that he wasn’t in control of his own breathing.)

Someone’s hand grazes his arm. He practically jumps back, some kind of startled noise escaping his throat. His ribs hurt.

(She crept her hand slowly down the back of his costume. He wanted to push her off, tell her to stop, do  _ anything _ , but he couldn’t. Just couldn’t, and he didn’t know why.)

He hears somewhere amidst the buzzing of his own thoughts, “Jeremy, what’s wrong?” and he wants to answer, but he just can’t. His breathing feels ragged; he tugs at his binder. He should’ve taken it off probably an hour ago but he can’t because Christine’s here still and she can’t know that —  _ what time is it?  _

(He felt her cold fingers on his bare skin, her nails grazing against him as she pulled him into a sloppy kiss. He begged to the SQUIP, in a way he’s sure it would insult him for:  _ Make it STOP! _ )

Christine says something.  _ Something, something, _ “ _ hyperventilating _ ,” and Jeremy realizes that  _ he _ is hyperventilating. He tries to take a deep breath but he just coughs.

(And then the SQUIP started speaking Japanese — something about “factory settings” — and Jeremy rolled himself out from under Chloe, zipping his costume back up before she could see his binder. He’d much rather be outed as a shitty lay than as trans. Then Jake showed up, and everything went even more to shit.)

He keeps coughing; he feels his stomach churn. Before he knows it, he’s running to the bathroom and puking his guts out into the toilet. It’s all alcohol and stomach acid. And it burns, scratches against the inside of his throat like sandpaper. There are tears on his face, and more in line to come out of his eyes.

But when it’s over, if he’s being honest with himself, he does feel a bit better. Exhausted, and sweaty, and gross, but better.

Christine’s behind him. He can’t see her, but he knows she’s there since there’s a familiar water bottle sitting next to his discarded glasses when he finally looks around.

It’s quiet for a while, but he hears her speak before he turns around to look at her.

“I’m...” She looks down at the floor. Her voice is choked. “I’m  _ sorry _ , I should go.”

“Don’t.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “ _ Please _ .” His voice cracks. “It wasn’t you, I promise.”

She doesn’t respond verbally. She rubs at one of her eyes, and Jeremy feels his heart just shatter.

“I’m sorry.” Jeremy moves over to her, still on his knees. “Please don’t—“ he wipes tears from his own face. “ _ Please _ don’t cry, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Christine whispers. “I just—I—“ She makes a vague gesture at him. “I cry whenever you cry!” A light chuckle escapes her.

Jeremy laughs back, tears still running down his cheeks. “Well  _ I _ cry whenever  _ you _ cry!” 

“We’re caught in a loop!”

He pulls a face of exaggerated shock. “Oh no!” But his exclamation trails off into a fit of giggles, and he flops down on the floor, head in Christine’s lap.

And the two of them just stay there together, their laughter harmonizing in the mediocre acoustics of Jeremy’s bathroom. 

\---

They take some time to wind down before the inevitable conversation. Half an hour, or maybe an hour, Jeremy isn’t sure. Enough time for Jeremy to brush his teeth (something he didn’t know you were supposed to do after throwing up, adding to the list of things he’s learned from Christine), wash the taste of beer out of his mouth, and sober up a little — which was a blessing and a curse. One one hand, he could register his thoughts a lot better. 

On the other, he could feel the remnants of his SQUIP getting closer with each passing second. And this conversation was going to be hard enough without the peanut-gallery-of-one popping in every few seconds.

“So…” Jeremy takes a drawn-out sip of his sugar-free Gatorade, stallingly letting the semi-sweet liquid sit in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. 

Christine speaks up before he can, looking at him from her spot on the couch. She looks tired, which is reasonable, considering it’s nearing two in the morning. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Jeremy answers. “Can we talk about…” His voice trails off, unsure how to really describe what had happened without outright insulting himself.

But, Christine understands. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” he responds. 

(But, that’s only half-true, isn’t it? He’d never told anyone about what had happened that night — not even  _ Michael _ . What makes him think he can tell Christine?)

He doesn’t need the SQUIP to think it for him.  _ She’s going to think you’re a coward. _

Jeremy anxiously rubs the back of his neck, then pulls his hood back forward to cover his scars (though, Christine did already know about them).

A few prospective sentences fumble through his mind before he settles on, “At the Halloween party, I…” He takes a deep breath — he can do this. “When I was upstairs with Chloe, we were—I—“ Jeremy cuts himself off.

Christine’s looking at him with such an intensity. Jeremy doesn’t know what to make of it; it’s making him even more nervous.

“Look, okay, Chloe was really drunk. Just—Just remember that, okay? She was really  _ really _ drunk and it wasn’t her fault and—“

“Hey, it’s okay, Jeremy.” She gives him a warm, albeit forced, smile. “Just say what’s on your mind, it’s okay.”

“So Chloe said Brooke had some kind of, like, sur—surprise for me and she took me up—She took me upstairs to Jake’s parents’ room. She started—uh—like, coming on to me and flirting and stuff. And obviously I didn’t want to— _ obviously _ , but…” 

It takes Jeremy a moment to get it out. He doesn’t want to say it, as if saying it makes it real. 

“I didn’t—I  _ couldn’t— _ say no. My SQUIP wouldn’t let me. And she started—started making out with me and she pinned me down on the bed and tried to zip down my costume so we could, y—y’know, and I didn’t  _ want _ it but I couldn’t move—I couldn’t say no—I couldn’t do  _ anything _ . I was just—“ His words are running wild, and he lets them. “I was just stuck there like her own personal human sex toy and she could do whatever she wanted and I was just fucking—just—“ He tugs at his hair,  _ hard _ , so caught up in his own thoughts that the pain doesn’t even register. “Just  _ helpless _ and  _ sad  _ and  _ pathetic _ and—“

**How nice to know you don’t need me to say it for you.**

And Jeremy  _ winces _ hearing its voice. It shuts him right up, just like it always did.

**You didn’t think I’d be gone ** ** _forever_ ** **, did you?**

His eyes are glazed, staring at the corner of the coffee table. He thinks he hears Christine speak, but the SQUIP’s authoritative voice covers up her whisper.

**You’re ungrateful, you know that? I worked so hard to mold you into someone that ** ** _Chloe Valentine_ ** ** would be willing to sleep with, but ** ** _you_ ** ** threw it away and have the audacity to act like I was the villain—**

“You  _ are  _ the villain,” Jeremy responds through clenched teeth. 

**Repetition does not equal truth, Jeremy. It’s not my fault you’re a ** ** _coward_ ** **.**

Jeremy stands bolt upright out of his seat and  _ screams _ at the empty space in front of him — “FUCK YOU! JUST LEAVE ME  _ ALONE! _ ”

** _Jeremy—_ **

“I DON’T CARE! I JUST WANT YOU  _ OUT OF MY HEAD! _ ”

Jeremy can hear his outburst reverberating off the walls. He can feel it in the way his throat burns as he takes his next ragged breaths. In the tears streaming down his face. But for  _ once _ , he shuts the SQUIP up. And that’s worth  _ anything _ .

He lets himself collapse back into the couch and a hand almost immediately grazes his shoulder. He flinches, at first, but relaxes when he realizes it’s just Christine.

But, then, he realizes that Christine saw all of  _ that _ , and he’s back to being stressed.

The concern is heavy in her face; it looks like she’s holding back tears. She waits for Jeremy to look at her, and speaks softly, like talking to a wounded animal.

“Can I hug you?”

And Jeremy breathes out, “ _ Please _ ,” before they practically collapse into an embrace. Christine’s fingers wound up in his hair, her head on his shoulder. He can feel the rise and fall of her chest on his; he tries to match her breathing. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, not letting go. “I had no idea…”

“Nobody does. I’ve never told anyone.” He lets his arms relax a bit, loosening the hug. He mumbles out, “‘Sides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” His hand instinctively brushes against his binder. “I don’t wanna… dump all my baggage on you and wait for you to sort it out. You’re not my therapist.”

The words,  _ “You’re not my SQUIP,” _ also pass through his mind, but he doesn’t say them out loud.

“And that’s okay,” she assures him. “There’s... a lot I don’t tell you, too.”

The implication shakes him to his core.

Christine seems to disregard it. She yawns. “It’s, like,  _ super _ late.”

Jeremy nods halfway, humming in agreement. He doesn’t break out of the hug, though. 

“My parents are probably gonna freak ‘cause I’m not home yet,” she continues, chuckling slightly. But she doesn’t make any effort to leave either.

Jeremy lets out a yawn also. He remembers reading one time that yawning after someone else indicates empathy, or attachment, or something.

Christine waits a moment, but does eventually ease herself out of the embrace. “I should go. My mom doesn’t like me driving late at night, so—“

“You could stay.” Jeremy’s hand falls to her knee. “It’s already late.”

She looks hesitant. “Jeremy, I—“

The words barely even register as they exit his mouth. “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

**You always have me.**

Jeremy has to bite down to stop himself from responding to it out loud. Instead, he looks at Christine.

“Do you…  _ want _ to stay?” he asks. “You don’t—If you don’t want to, I don’t wanna pressure—“

“I’ll stay.” She takes his hand and gives it a light squeeze. “If you need me, I’ll stay.”

Jeremy hugs her. Holds her tighter than he ever has. And she holds back.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair. 

She moves her head back from the crook of his neck, whispering back. “I know.” She giggles. “Boom! Star Wars!”

Jeremy laughs back, just a bit, but responds with, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Christine brushes his hair out of his face and leans in for a kiss on the lips, but stops just short.

Jeremy gives her a small, confused, “What is it?”

“This is…” She moves back slightly. “Are you okay with me kissing you?”

He gives her a “you’re  _ kidding _ ” kind of look. “Wha—Of course I am.” 

“I just—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—“

“You could  _ never _ make me uncomfortable!” Jeremy interrupts.

“Jeremy,” her voice sounds heavy, “I’m being  _ serious _ . I don’t wanna hurt you like…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

“You wouldn’t. You’re not like that.” He’s certain of it.

“Just promise me you’ll let me know if I ever go to far, or—or anything, okay?”

Jeremy nods insistently. “Of course, and you’d do the same for me, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Jeremy whispers, “So, uh, do you, like, still wanna kiss, or—“

Christine cuts him off by planting her lips on his. It’s softness and comfort and warmth and everything a kiss should be. And it’s a feeling like Jeremy’s never felt before. They say your first kiss is magical, but, for Jeremy at least, his second kiss was more than that — it was perfect.

They pull away at the same time. Jeremy’s breathless. He repeats, “I love you,” as he pulls her into another embrace, her head resting perfectly under his chin. “I love you so much.”

Christine has an arm wrapped around him, hand resting on his shoulder. It takes her a moment, but she responds. “I love you, too.”

It’s the first time she’s said it.  _ Really _ said it, outside of any casual circumstances.

It makes Jeremy’s heart skip a beat. No SQUIPs, no lies, no manipulation — _she_ _loves him_. She loves him at two in the morning, barely sober, with bloodshot eyes and tear stains on his cheeks. With his untied Hello Kitty Converse and thick-rimmed glasses and oversized cardigan with the sleeves pulled down to his knuckles. Unkempt hair and acne and issues. She loves him.

And, for a moment, it’s perfect. Messy, but perfect.


End file.
